


Driftcatch

by TerokNorTailor



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/M, Free Verse, Masturbation, The Drift (Pacific Rim), Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerokNorTailor/pseuds/TerokNorTailor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raleigh's first drift with Mako takes an interesting turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driftcatch

Blue.

 

A hurricane of memories whirled around Raleigh’s head as he entered into the Drift.

Mako was controlled chaos collected under pressure.

A Prince Rupert’s Drop held together by the sheer force of an aggressive cooling process. 

He had learned about those in high school science class.

Raleigh could go on.

 

When you drifted, you became your partner.

Your body, theirs.

Your thoughts, theirs.

Your mind.

Theirs.

 

Everything went by like one of those early silent movies, the film always going by the projector a little too fast, intensified by frenetic strokes on a piano? 

Organ? 

Something that made music.

 

He pinballed between Mako’s memories.

A sword.

A shoe.

A savior.

Eventually, a home.

 

He could feel their minds weaving together, invisible tendrils of dendrites and axons snaking their way through a software labyrinth.

Not quite touching.

Touching.

Thoughts of himself.

 

Sans shirt.

Scars visible.

Don’t think about the scars.

Warm golden light honey coated vision.

Flashes of blue at the corner of his – her – eyes.

Hastily sealed bulkhead.

 

Peek.

 

Her own rich brown iris reflected back to him from the circular glass.

Tingle.

Nerves on fire.

Smile.

Secret.

A body not his own.

 

Belt unbuckled, navy blue pooling around ankles, cast aside.

Laces undone.

Socks stripped.

Tank top brought up and over, more blue dancing around the periphery.

Breathing up-tempo as black spandex is wrested from their soft flesh.

Not his.

 

Hers.

 

Hand reaches up.

Grasping, teasing. 

“Raleigh…”

The other hand goes down, interrupted only by the small relief of a tattoo on his – HER – hip.

He laughs.

And remembers to ask about that later.

As a cover.

 

Other hand finds hot wetness.

Catching breath.

He tugs gently at jet-black hair.

The slight pain is pleasant, only increasing the fluids now soaking through…

Boxer briefs?

Mental shrug.

 

The stretchy red cotton found a friend in gravity as it slipped down her legs, traversing a landscape of bruises all too familiar.

Memory foam padding could still yield to segmented armor.

 

Images of himself flashed through his mind.

Raining hard.

Lifting umbrella.

That fucking oatmeal sweater.

 

Shudder.

 

Quicken.

Waves of heat pulsing through her – HIS – body.

Finding their home in soft, violently blossoming petals.

Push.

Surge.

Fingers circling a bead of flesh muscles contracting in rhythm no don’t stop.

Moan?

 

No.

Walls too thin.

Him too close.

 

Flood.

Core contracting lip biting back arching ultrasonic vibration.

Fingers pulling away coated in slick off-white salty-sweet translucence.

Slowing succession of pulsing aftershock.

Breathe.

 

“Raleigh!”

 

Blue.

More frames.

Finality.

 

Raleigh hears LOCCENT’s all-too-familiar monotone.

 

“Neural Handshake Established.”

 

Coming up to the surface.

Out of the blue.

Breathe.

 

He looks to his left.

Her face turns toward him, those streaks of blue highlighted by internal helmet lights.

Mako Mori smiles back, and her voice dances over the comm.

 

“I saw yours too.”

 

Raleigh couldn’t help but laugh.


End file.
